Murphy's Law
by trashandviolence
Summary: It was a simple gesture, really. T for mild language.


**Hey again, everyone. I was crewgirl8 from a while ago, and now I'm back. I deleted all of my stories, but I hope I can restart.**

**It's been over a year since I've written, so please review honestly and tell me what sucked. :)**

**Disclaimer: Everything Law&Order: Criminal Intent-related belongs to its respective owner.**

It was a simple gesture, really. Parents to children, friends to friends, hell, even the occasional strangers on the street were given to hugging. It isn't hard at all, you just had to wrap your arms around someone and squeeze a little. The symbol of caring, hugs let someone know you felt for them, or cared about them, or wanted to help them. This particular hug was different. It had left her dazed, surprised, but comforted all the same.

It was December 12. The weather was freezing in New York, the kind of cold that squeezes the life out of your very lungs and expels it into the clear air. Typical Northeast cold. The sky was a dull gray, and there was the palest sheen of matte white frost outside. She had been in a rush to get to work, and cursing her faulty alarm clock, ran out her door and down her steps. This particular choice led to Incident Number 1. Number 2, actually, if you counted the alarm clock not waking her up. She fell. Hard. She had landed on her face, leaving her with a sore red mark on the left side of her jaw that quickly swelled into a bruise.

"Fabulous," she had muttered, but pushed aside the inconvenience and got in her car, which led to Incident Number 3, the broken heater. She could see her breath in the car's air the entire way to work, and arrived with goosebumps covering every inch of her skin. She had sighed then, annoyed at her unfortunate morning, but still totally sane. Alex Eames was not the type of person to let a few misfortunes get her all emotional. So she had sucked in a breath of the cold air, stiffened her shoulders, and headed into 1 Police Plaza.

Incident Number 4 had come after she stepped off the elevator, when all eyes zeroed in on her jaw and the dark blue bruise that decorated her bone. She had to admit, it did look a little like a fist. "You shoulda seen the other guy," She had said dryly to the room at large. Bobby had glanced briefly at the bruise before smirking at her remark. She tried not to let the incident bother her, but the eyes stayed focused on her all the same.

Incident Numbers 5, 6, and 7 had occured rapidfire--3 of her pens had dried up as she filled out a single form. What was happening to her today? "Did you use these?" She had growled to her partner, who quickly noticed her aggravation. He pulled his face out of a psychology textbook, slowly placed his own pencil down, and hesitantly met her eyes.

"Sorry," he had replied nervously, a little afraid of the once calm, now angry woman glaring at him across the desks. "If they're _dead_, Goren," she hissed, "_throw them away!_" There was an awkward silence as she continued to burn holes in him with her eyes, the sharp points of the pens sticking out of her fist. Then, ashamed, she had thrown out the pens and regained her composure. "I'm sorry, Bobby, bad morning." She absentmindedly fingered the bruise on her jaw, which unconsciously attracted her partner's attention. Noticing his gaze on the mark, she felt annoyance bubble up in her, but had no energy left to snap at her partner. "I fell," she said shortly. He said nothing, just nodded. She looked away. He looked away. Incident Number 8.

Number 9 had occurred when her daily cinnamon bun fell on her lap, leaving a sticky mess of goo on her pants. As she dabbed away at the mark, she cursed all baked goods with words not fit for a lady. This day was not getting any better. 10 occurred soon after, when she had to handwrite all of the booking information on a perp after her computer melted down. By 3:00pm, she was a little more than tense. Number 11 had Captain Ross accidentally colliding with her as he rounded a corner, sending her papers flying across the floor. He looked at her to apologize, then sparked Incident Number 12. "Eames, what happened to your fa-"

She hadn't let him finish, just rushed to the coffee room, yearning for a caffeine fix. A large sign caught her attention:

**"COFFEE MAKER IS ON THE FRITZ! SORRY!"**

Alex Eames was on the verge of a breakdown. She could feel it, the tension bubbling up into her throat, shaking her shoulders and drawing tears into her eyes. Her whole day had been shot to hell. Nothing had gone right, and she had been converted to masses who believed in Murphy's Law. Nothing had gone right. Nothing. She had started to cry right then, little sobs that pained her chest before they escaped her. She slid to the dirty floor, grabbing a handful of coffee grounds on the way down, not caring that she was at work and that her mascara was running down her face.

A passing secretary, alarmed at the sudden snapping of a Major Case Detective, alerted Bobby that his partner was crying over a broken coffee maker in the break room, and he scrubbed his face with his hands. A broken coffee maker was never just a broken coffee maker. He glanced at his computer screen, looking for the date. He sighed when he saw what day it was, and headed into the empty break room. Seeing his partner in a soggy little heap on the floor, he slid down next to her. She was eating a small pile of tear-soaked coffee grinds.

"I knew you loved coffee, but this seems a little bit much," he said quietly, looking at her wet eyes. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, Eames quietly letting tears slip down her cheeks, Goren letting her take her time. "And did Ross really use the word 'fritz'?" he said, smiling at her.

"I just wanted some cofee," she started innocuously. "Just some cofee. First, it was the alarm clock. Then the fall. Then the heater. The pens. The cinnamon bun. The computer. The collision. The coffee. I just wanted some God damn coffee," she stated again, breaking into full-on bawling. The whole nine yards--crying, quivering lip, shaking shoulders, runny nose, gasping breaths. She looked like a toddler just informed that their playtime was over, but he knew it was more serious than the coffee.

Incident Number 14 was about to occur, the one good thing to happen to her all day. Bobby leaned over, placed one arm gently around her back, the other hand around the back of her head, and pulled her into him. "It's the anniversary, isn't it?" It wasn't really a question, because he knew what had happened 6 years ago on December 12. She said nothing, just allowed herself to fall into him, then nodded.

She took a single breath in, smelling his detergent and soap, and then he'd let go and she'd begun to wipe her eyes furiously, catching her raggedy breath as she did so.

It had been brief. Fleeting. But the simple human contact left her feeling so, so much better.

"And for God's sake, I did not get beat up!" She said exasperatedly. Her partner smiled, and reached out his hand to her. She took it and slowly pulled herself to her feet. "I know," he said simply, and it was over.


End file.
